


All That's Left (is some hope)

by murraysmistress



Category: Doctor Who, Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who, Crossover, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murraysmistress/pseuds/murraysmistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor has been on her own for a year, doing her damned best to stay out of trouble. But this time around, the TARDIS seems to have plans of her own, and the Doctor finds herself facing a life-long foe- and gaining, perhaps, a new companion to assist her in the fight. Will Myka Bering follow this charming new acquaintance into a world of endless wonder?</p><p>-and what then?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a Little Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: Bering and Wells.  Chapter 1/?. Nothing even remotely explicit thus far; This is essentially just an introduction to the story to come. Future chapters will be longer. AU / Crossover; Doctor Who universes with various references to other universes (WH13 in this chapter, though future chapters will feature more.) You can find me here and on my[tumblr](http://Www.murraysmistress.tumblr.com). This is un-beta'd. Let me know what you think and feel free to point out any errors! I will try to have another chapter up by Friday, 7/5/13. Title is borrowed from "The Letting Go" (Mount Moriah.) Chapter title is from Tegan and Sara's "Don't Confess."_

 

"The universe is filled with endless wonder. Would you like to see it?"

 

 

**

 

  Pain. A dull, resonating pain an inch above her ear.  
  That's the first thing that she's aware of. The second is the cold floor of the console room, flush against her cheek. The third thing is a realization: "I'm lying on the ground." She untangles her limbs and eases herself upwards, running one hand through her hair and over the sore spot where a bump is sure to form. The Tardis sighs and comes to a stuttering halt.  
   "After all the time we've spent together," she shouts at the console, "one would think you'd have a little more respect for me!" It's not an entirely fair [implied] accusation, but she's tired. She's frustrated. She's...  
  No, not lonely. Certainly not lonely. It may be worse than loneliness, she thinks. _But I am certainly not lonely._  
"It's the same lie every time, isn't it?" she says.  
  And silence follows.  
  She does an inventory. Sonic screwdriver? Still here. Still sonic. Grappler? Well, of course. What else could possibly be biting into her thigh like that? Locket? Still present. Still... empty.  
  Satisfied- or at least, as much as she figures she can be under the given circumstances- she pulls herself to her feet. One hand rests, for just a moment, on the door handle of the Tardis, and then the door is flung open to reveal-  
  N _o, this isn't right._  
   The door slams and she's at the console's screen within seconds, typing furiously and checking coordinates and swearing, and then she's off again, black tresses flying behind her as she pulls the doors open and stares at the outside world in disbelief.  
  Her eyes are hard and cold as she turns and fixates her glare on the Tardis's glowing center. "Our first trip," she growls, each word spliced with venom. "Our first trip in a year and you're already mucking up coordinates? You humourless woman! You didn't just bring me to America; you brought me to the bloody capitol!"  
  The Tardis is, as before, silent.  
  Her fingers curl. Uncut nails dig into the flesh of her palms.  
  "You better have a damned good reason for this. And whatever it is, I will find it. I promise you, I will find it."

 

 Yet the District of Columbia is relatively calm. There's the usual hustle and bustle, the usual coming and going, the usual chatter and debate, but nothing that grabs her by the shoulders and shouts "I need you. Find me. Save me. Help me."  
  It's selfish, perhaps, but she misses that feeling.  
  She misses having a purpose.  
  The waiting period is spent repairing the Tardis and toying with various gadgets. On the first day- a Tuesday, warm and bright as a day in June can ever be,- she rigs up two radio communicators. It's not long until she stashes them away upon realization of their uselessness. Clara is gone.  
  Amelia is gone  
  Rory and Donna and Martha are gone.  
  _Rose_ is gone.  
  Everyone she's known and loved is gone.  
  _But I'm not lonely,_ she tells herself again. And again. _I'm just alone._  
  The smile that she forces upon her lips does little to lessen the lie, but it does ease her mind. She smiles because she knows- she thinks- she _tells_ herself that it's okay to be alone, even for this long. She smiles because she still has River, sweet River, River with her charming grin and bubbling enthusiasm and a ready kiss when needed. And she has the Tardis. And she has her books.  
  She smiles because there is absolutely nothing else she can do.  
  On that sunny Tuesday, in the shadows of her glorified cave, she builds a drop-down library into the ceiling of the console room. She wonders why she didn't think of that before.  
  Her hands find their way to the base of her neck and across a gold chain and around the sharp corners of her locket. She removes the necklace and stares at it for some time and wonders, again, why she'd bothered to start wearing it.  
  She tests her grappler (considers sonic-ing it.) (Decides not to.) She sweeps the floor. Dips her feet in the pool.  
  She tells herself that she's not lonely and she thinks of River and the Tardis and then she tells herself the lie all over again.  
  The sun does not shine in the Tardis, but she lies and tells herself that the darkness is okay, too.

 

 

  The second day is a Wednesday. It's no later than six in the morning by the time she's dressed and on her way to the hardware store. Upon entering, she inhales deeply and starts along the most immediate aisle. Her fingers dance across the many metal bits and pieces in their plastic bins, climb the steep ridges of a screw, and sink into coils of rope and chain. And every once in a while, her hand draws back from the shelves, pinching some potential prize. Further inspection is made, possible uses are dreamt, and then the prize goes tumbling into her basket.  
  Though she's always had a love for meddling and tinkering, the obsession with invention is as new as the face staring back at her in the mirror each morning.  
  In a way, it's a blessing.  
  It's the only thing that's kept her somewhat sane for the last twelve months.  
  The new treasures she's found will be put to good use.  
  She checks out. Exits the store. Scans the street. Begins walking, bag in hand, hand in fist, lips pursed, eyes unseeing, and bumps into-  
  A woman, taller than herself. Unruly brown curls. Hair that smells... pleasant, clean, but odorless. An expression that is tentatively both apologetic and closed off. A tongue that slips and spills and stutters: "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"  
  "Don't be sorry. I'm quite alright." She bends to retrieve the spilled contents of her bag, considering the woman. "What's your name?"  
  "M-My name?"  
"Your name."  
  "Bering. Myka Bering."  
  She repeats that, allowing the name to imprint itself on her lips like all the other names before. It's a mistake [just like all the others before,] but it's a mistake she knows she'll make again and again. For a moment, for a fraction of second, she feels... well, not less lonely, but certainly a little less alone. "Myka Bering. Well, I've never met anybody accidentally." A truth. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you in the future. You matter, somehow."  
Myka shakes her head, eyes narrowed, lips parted slightly. "Who are you?"  
  "I'm the Doctor."  
  And then there's that question, that request, the confusion, the two words that make her feel certain that her recent statement will indeed prove true.  
  "Doctor who?"

 

  On the third day, she dreams.  
  And she finds her purpose.


	2. Poise and Rationality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeere we go! I won't even try to pretend I know much about the White House or Secret Service, but hopefully this is at least semi-believable. Feel free to comment/criticize. It'll be much appreciated.

Even after she wakes, the voice continues to pulse in her ears. It's loud, mechanical, vibrating; but more than anything else, it's a voice that reeks with anger.  
It says only one word- but that word is all too familiar.  
 _"DOC-TOR!"_  
She rises in a storm of hair and sheets and theories flying around her. Feet bound through tunnels and halls and in and out of rooms, and then she's out the door, leaving the old police box in her wake. "I'll come back," the Doctor promises. "And when I do, I'll know exactly where to find this dalek."  
It's a Thursday. June 27th, according to the paper. The Doctor finds it by chance (though 'chance' is a term she uses loosely; she's been through far too much to credit chance and coincidence,) lying face-down on a park bench. The cover story is arguably dull (something or other about an end-of-the-year fundraiser at a local elementary school.) Like the rest of cover articles, it's nothing that screams 'alien,' and certainly nothing that screams dalek. She's not necessarily expecting that anything in the paper will be of immediate use to her [even if it does prove useful later], so she's about to stash it away when her eye catches a paragraph detailing an upcoming event at the White House.  
An event during which an extraterrestrial artifact is to be unveiled.  
Nothing screams 'extraterrestrial' quite like the word itself.  
A man named James MacPherson had, supposedly, presented the artifact (which is described as some sort of armor) as a thank you to the American people for helping to fund his studies in extraterrestrial life forms. The article describes MacPherson as “aristocratic,” and of “European origin,” yet few specifics about the man are provided. The unveiling of his gift would take place tonight at an invite-only party here at the capitol.  
And the Doctor would be there.

When evening falls, a black limousine pulls up to the White House. The woman that steps out of it is sleek, slender, and entirely unfamiliar. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, her eyes sharp and searching.  
Nobody recognizes her.  
Nobody except Secret Service agent Myka Bering.  
Yet, the stranger manages to get through the door without trouble.  
Myka tenses.  
She knows every single one of the names- first, last, and middle- on the list of invitees. Again, she recites them in her head. She visualizes faces, runs through the one-sentence biographies she's memorized.  
This woman- this... "Doctor" is not supposed to be here.  
With one hand ready at the holster and the other pressed to her earpiece, she circles around to the doorman. Her mouth is dry. Blood pulses in her neck. Her eyes flicker about her, not daring to let anything escape her sight.  
"That woman," she says to the doorman, her voice just an octave too high for normalcy, "in the black dress. About five-foot-six. What's her name?"  
Blinking and shaking his head, the doorman scrutinizes his clipboard, then returns his gaze to Myka. "I do not know. Jane... Jane Smith, perhaps?"  
"Well, is she on the list?"  
"No, but-"  
"Dammit! That's a security breach! We have to get her out of here. Nobody is supposed to get in here without-"  
"-she had a signed invitation from Mr. President himself."  
"Oh. Right. Well... in that case, I'm sorry to have bothered you." After tipping her head politely to the next guest (who is perturbed by Myka's interruption, to say the least,) Myka makes her way back to the west side of the great hall. And though her mouth remains closed on the matter for the rest of the night, her eyes remain dutifully on Ms. Jane Smith.  
She may have a doorman's approval, but that doesn't mean that Myka has to trust her.  
If the twisted knot in Myka's gut is any indication, the safety of the White House- and everyone that resides in it- is at stake.  
There are likely very few people that take their job as seriously as Myka Bering does. It's the first thing on her mind at any given moment, the only thing over which she allows herself to obsess. In her vacant hours, she plays over past scenarios in her mind and searches for the details that could've made a difference, for the imbalances that the rest of the team seemed to miss.  
And she doesn't allow herself to make the same mistake twice.  
 _Everyone is a suspect. Trust must be earned. Never give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Check everything twice, then check it again. Count. Memorize. Listen. Leave nothing to chance. Nothing is ever a coincidence._  
Pessimistic? Maybe. But it works; It keeps important and innocent people safe. And as long as she is doing that, she's succeeding.  
The night drags on in the usual fashion, and Agent Bering watches as her dark-eyed suspect carries conversation with stranger after stranger. Though Myka attempts to read the woman's lips, she soons finds it to be a fruitless effort; Ms. "Smith" says little more than, "Hello!" and the occasional, encouraging word (something to the effect of, "Oh, is that so?" or, "Well, of course!")  
Some people (or even Myka, under different circumstances) might've dismissed this as insecurity or politeness. But in _this_ instant, under _these_ circumstances, she sees it as more reason for suspicion. She sees a foreign woman with a lazy alias and unknown intentions who is deliberately steering the topic of conversation away from herself.  
 _Who are you, Doctor Jane Smith?_  
Myka's wristwatch reads nine when finally the doors to the hall are thrown open, and a large, cylindrical mass on wheels and shrouded in white cloth emerges. The crowd begins to break off into clusters, then scatter and reform in an attempt to find a suitable seating arrangement. In the semi-chaos, Myka steps back and hisses into her headset.  
"Agent Lattimer, please ask Mr. Obama if he personally invited a woman by the name of Jane Smith." A brief pause answers. "Agent Lattimer?"  
"No, sorry, Mr. President has no recollection of-"  
 _Ziiiiiing!_  
A scream pierces the room, followed by the bitter odor of seared skin.  
The crowd runs for the door in an unorganized frenzy. Chairs are knocked over and forgotten, dismissed as no more than a necessary casualty. Light beams across the room, and another scream resounds. More burning flesh. More chaos. All originating from the center and front-most point of the hall, where an uncovered metal structure now stands. But it's _not_ standing; it's _moving_ , and somehow... it's seeing.  
Until now, Myka has not been given a chance to see the so-called "artifact," but she can tell- even from nearly one hundred feet away- that this is no simple suit of armor as she’s been told.  
It's active. And angry.  
The laser, which now flashes again through the visceral mob (and is followed, inevitably, by shouts of horror,) seems to spring from a long, mechanical arm on the machine’s side. The machine itself is, by Myka’s estimate, about five feet tall and no more than three feet in diameter. Its metal body rises from a polygonal base and is covered in a grid of domes that protrude from a slated structure. Then comes the torso, a structure of material identical to the lower portion of the body, sans half-spherical decor. Between these two halves lies the origin of the arms, one of which has already been described. The second arm is of a different build entirely, and ends in a suction cup akin to that of a plunger. Atop all this is a rounded cap that might serve as a head. From it protrudes a sensor, which appears to function much the way an eye does; as well as two matching lights, one on either side of the head.  
It's not hard to see why the apparent robot might be mistaken for an otherworldly form of battledress; For though it has many recognizable features of an intelligent being, there is nothing even vaguely organic about it. Its movements are all calculated, precise, as though being controlled remotely. It is this observation that causes Myka to think that perhaps this artifact, which was originally mistaken for battle armor, might instead be a battle weapon.  
And weapons? They're designed to kill.  
"We need to get the president out of the building. Now. This looks like an assassination attempt."  
"Already on it, Agent Bering. MacPherson is being detained. We're calling in a SWAT team to extinguish the threat."  
"I think there's a second party involved," Myka responds, her eyes trained on a lone figure in black. "I'm going to check it out."  
She inhales and reaches for her gun, then pauses to steady herself before sprinting towards the door where both Ms. Jane Smith and the killer machine were both seen last.  
There's a familiar rush surging through her veins. She's immediately hyperaware of her surroundings and the way it interacts with her body. Each step upon the hard floor sends a shock up through her feet and over her spine. The air, polluted by frantic yelling and charred cells and dust, feels thick on her tongue and teeth, like she could bite down and _rip_ it apart. But she doesn't; She doesn't even dare to breathe for fear that the mixture will fill her lungs and strangle her so that she cannot move, cannot speak, cannot do what needs to be done.  
And then she'd be too late.  
Again.  
 _No,_ she thinks. _Not this time. Not again._  
Her body throws itself around the corner and into a narrow corridor before coming to an abrupt halt. Standing not ten feet away is Jane Smith, pointing a glorified glow-pen at the robotic monster, which stands between her and Myka. Her previously done-up hair now falls loosely over her shoulders and back, but she's still wearing the skin-tight, floor-length black dress from the event. Myka might laugh at the scene if she weren't so keenly aware of the immediate danger. It is, in a way, quite comical. Jane: pointing a mere pen at some alien weapon; her stance wide and solid; the seams of her dress threatening to burst. The machine: pointing a plunger and a tube-like arm at Jane; chanting _"DOC-TOR!"_ in a loud, computerized voice.  
Jane catches Myka's gaze.  
"Myka Bering!" she says, and there's a hint of pleasure in that voice, as though she is genuinely pleased to see Myka. Myka can't imagine why. "Wonderful. Put that gun down, will you? It's not going to do you any good. Care to help me?"  
For a brief moment, Myka Bering is absolutely dumbstruck. She rushed in expecting that Ms. Smith would either run or resist, but she's instead asked for something that Myka struggles to refuse: she's asked for help. And since this woman looks as though she is in danger and has not, thus far, done anything to prove her guilt, Myka feels obliged to assist her.  
She shoves her gun back into the holster.  
"Alright. What do you need me to do?"  
"The painting- on the wall- grab it and break it against the dalek's front sensor."  
Myka's hand flies back to her gun. "Are you insane?" she shouts over the robot's chants. "That painting is-"  
"Just a replica! You have to trust me on this!"  
"How do you-?"  
 _"Now!"_  
And Myka obeys. The movement from the wall to the robot's eye is so fast that she hasn't even the time to regret the decision. The robot- the _dalek_ wheels backwards and emits a noise of frustration. "Your name isn't Jane, is it?"  
"No, I told you. I'm the Doctor."  
"Right, well, what do we do now, Doctor?"  
"Run."


	3. Wonderland Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man. This took way longer than it should have taken to write. I'm currently away from home, so it's been hard to find the time/motivation. I intended for this chapter to extend beyond what is here. I also, however, wanted to get this posted as soon as possible, and the ending felt like a good cut-off point. I'm returning home soon, so resy assured the next chapter will have a much speedier completion.
> 
> Edit: Just did a second proof-read and corrected a lot of errors. Tell me if you catch any more!

_"Run."_ It's the thing that Myka has been trained not to do. In her line of work, if you see a bullet heading someone's way, you step in front of it. Better to take the risk than break the hearts of an entire country over the death of their president's daughter. In Myka's line of work, you do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of another individual.

You do not run.

But right now, Myka can't see any other way out. She considers shooting at the dalek, but that route is quickly dismissed. Even without the Doctor's warning, she can see that there's limited vulnerability in the dalek's exterior shell. A bullet might simply ricochet back or, at most, leave a shallow dent in the metal surface. A team has already been called in to take down the dalek, so there's no one of use Myka can call that hasn't been called already. The Dalek is inching towards her with extended arms and a bright blue eye and Myka decides to listen to the Doctor and do the one thing she doesn't do:  
  
She runs.

The two of them fly down the corridor in an awkward, shambling race. Myka's hesitance and discomfort is apparent in the every-other-step stumble of her feet, in the but-how-far-behind-is-it? turn of her head. The Doctor's sleek dress, however enabling it may be in the eyes of old politicians, now limits her movement, even given the benefit of a tearing seam up her side. Myka sees the woman's head turning- left, right, left- searching for... something? A weapon? An escape route? A-

"Door! Myka, in here!"

Door? Alright, fair enough, but there was no possible way that the Doctor could know her way around the White House well enough to have any idea where they are actually going.

Still, it might give them some time.

So Myka follows.  
"This is the red room," she begins to explain as the Doctor fumbles for her glow pen. "It's used for-"

"Yes, yes, I _know._ And Edith Roosevelt used to display her dolls in here, did you know that? Fantastic woman, highly under appreciated. And is this thing made of wood?"

"The door? And what is that?"

"Sonic screwdriver. Not a weapon, doesn't work on wood."

"Well, the door- it has- metal locks on the inside, it's bullet proof, and-"

"Right! Brilliant!" Her device flashes a bright green, tracing the frame of the door before clicking and closing back into darkness. Its owner grins cheekily and taps the screwdriver against her empty palm. "We've got, oh, five minutes at most before the dalek comes. Do you know if this is the same desk that was here when Theodore was in office?"

"It's the same desk."

Upon hearing this confirmation, the Doctor makes for the desk and pulls open the top drawer. Her sonic screwdriver lights up once more as she points it towards the back barrier of the drawer, revealing an impossibly large compartment. From it, she produces a white dress shirt, a belt, and camel slacks.

Myka gawks. "Hold on, how did you know that was in there?"

"Theodore and I spent some time together last May. I asked if I could leave some of my stuff here, and, well-" she raises her stored garments triumphantly. "Also left a pair of shoes. Convenient, isn't it?"

"And that all... fits..." Myka says, her brow furrowed, "in there?"

"Bigger on the inside." The Doctor grins and immediately begins to unzip her dress. Her arms strain, bending back over her thin shoulders and grasping and the metal bit behind her neck. She tugs it downwards and moves one hand around and beneath to better pull at the zipper. Her body is stiff, rigid, all bones and stretched taught muscles.

Myka averts her eyes. Red taints her complexion. "So, Doctor," she begins, attempting to maintain a level tone, "bring me up to speed. What exactly is a dalek?"

"Alien," the Doctor says, and _God_ her dress is off and she's sliding into a pair of dark skinny jeans and the shimmering black cloth that previously adorned her body now pools at her thin, angular feet. A light blouse is then thrown over her arms and back, and buttoned at the front. Myka looks away. Again. "From the planet Skaro. Their body is actually encased by the metal. They're cyborgs, essentially. Old enemies of mine, but last I knew, they'd completely forgotten who I was. Knowledge of my existence had been completely wiped from their consciousness. This occurrence is... impossible."

Through the walls, they hear a slow, gurgling, robotic voice say, "This is made of wood. Sonic does not work on wood."

"Bollocks," the Doctor mutters under her breath, lacing up her last boot and then standing. Her eyes drift to the window. "We don't have much time. Are you afraid of heights, Myka Bering?"

"We're on the first floor...but no, I'm not afraid of heights."

"Aces."

Now fully dressed, the Doctor rushes across the room and over to the tall, white-gridded window on the opposite wall. Her hands work quickly, fumbling first along the window's frame, and then in her pockets as she tries to relocate the sonic screwdriver. It buzzes against her palm, projects a green glow on the rim of the glass.

There's a crash. There's a burst of splintering of wood.

And then the Dalek is among them.

"Doctor...?" Myka says. Her feet are planted firmly on the floor below, but her eyes dart rapidly between the approaching threat and the woman she's chosen to trust. Who might also be a threat.

_Lousy call, Agent Bering._

Over her shoulder, Myka sees the Doctor spread cross the window like a drunk spider across her web. She clings to the wall with one hand, reaches desperately for the top with the other hand (in which she still holds the sonic screwdriver), and teeters on the window's edge with both of her leather-clad feet. "Just another minute!" she says. Myka's eyes flash back to the dalek. Back to the Doctor. To the dalek. "If I could only..."

"There's no time." Myka backs up with low, strong, strides. She stands mere inches away from the Doctor when two things happen almost within the same instant:

The dalek raises its arm.

And the window crashes to the ground.

A moment after, Myka Bering feels the energized grip of her new acquaintance snug around her waist, and then the rush of air around her body.

The observations of the quick, the clever, the composed Myka Bering are reduced to nothing more than, _"holy crap; I'm gonna die,"_ and _"oh, I'm flying."_

Her feet find solid ground.

It doesn't take more than a second for Myka to realize that they're standing on the roof, but it takes several moments for the government agent to come to her senses and register exactly _how_ she ended up on the roof, even as she watches the Doctor's grappling gun recoil with a vibrating _whirr._ She flashes Myka a brilliant grin when she catches the agent's gaze, and says, with a mocking uptone, "Are you coveting my grappler?"

Myka gives a short laugh. "I'm not 'coveting' anything; I'm just-"

"Myka, duck!" Myka shoots downwards just as the brilliant white light flashes over her head. She spins to meet the great cyborg as it hovers in mid air at the rooftop's edge. Her body runs rigid and cold.

"They can fly?" she asks weakly. She runs her tongue over her dry bottom lip and reaches, again, for her gun; but her hand is quick to fall away in a cold fist when logic overcomes instinct.

"Sweetie!" the dalek shouts. "Sweetie!" The Doctor's eyes go wide.

"River..." she murmurs, her gaze heavenwards. "Yes, of course! River!" She turns to Myka. The Doctor's eyes glow with something, something dark and old that Myka tries and fails to place as madness. "The dalek sensed the Tardis's approach. I don't know how it did it, Myka, but it did, and now I can hear it too- Oh, this is perfect!"

Myka doesn't know what or who the 'Tardis' is, but she becomes aware of what must be the noise the Doctor mentioned. It's a pulsing sound of alternating pitch, like the sound of a multi-throated beast in- and ex-haling through their mouths repeatedly. Within moments, a bright, blue-painted police box appears at the origin of the noise. Myka's mind accepts this event a bit more readily than it might any other day; for after all that has happened and all she has seen on this evening thus far, an invisible police box does not seem entirely implausible. Time to question the matter is not provided; for no sooner has the box appeared than Myka feels herself being tugged towards it by {black hair whipping; knuckles white; cheeks red} the Doctor. She pulls the door open, closes it behind Myka, and turns to face the woman at the center console. After only a moment's hesitation (and this is not so much hesitation as it is appreciation; for there is a warm smile upon her face and a fondness in her feral eyes,) the Doctor strides towards the guest, wraps her in a [brief] embrace, and plants a kiss on her cheek.

"Hello, River. I knew I married well."  



	4. Okay, So You're a Rocket Scientist?

The greeting ends almost as soon as it begins; for it seems as though the Doctor has only just entered into the blonde woman's arms when she breaks away and takes to pacing about the room's central cylinder, checking various screens and levers and gadgets and God-may-know-what-else-but-Myka-sure-doesn't. The Doctor's acquaintance- _no, wife,_ Myka corrects herself with a slight grimace- is a strongly-built woman with curls even wilder than Myka's own. She's approximately (by Myka's estimate, subtracting the inches added by the woman's shoes) the same height as the Doctor and emits the same buoyant energy as her brunette counterpart; but she possesses a cockiness (and, almost ironically, a purity) that the Doctor does not. That energy, Myka decides, holds far more danger than the Doctor's own; for while she can sense the restraints by which she Doctor binds herself, she sees no evidence of such restraints in the Doctor's lover, and thus fears her far more from the very start.

But despite all this- despite all of Myka's confusion and exhaustion and quickly forming judgement- there's something equally comforting and stomach-twisting about the Doctor's marriage. There's a sanity, Myka supposes, that one is required to have in order to be in a stable marriage. Maybe 'sanity' isn't quite the right word; no, there's a _humanness_ required, a certain level of humanity that must be attained in order to be part of a family.

Until now, Myka's Doctor has presented herself as anything and everything but human.

Yet Myka can't help but feel slightly ill as a result of this new knowledge. Seeing this woman {who is bigger and better than Myka in every single way, from the heels on her boots which bring her above Myka's eye level to the blinding and almost impossibly wide smile (and matching enthusiasm) right to the sheer volume of her hair} makes Myka feel... foolish. Small. Humbled. A common mortal in a kingdom of gods. A kingdom in which she believed herself an equal.

But now they're playing on a field with which Myka is entirely unfamiliar, and it all feels so strange.

The Doctor and her wife launch into a rallying banter while Myka gawks. Finally finding her voice, she whispers, "it's bigger on the inside."

The banter stops and the Doctor's wife turns to Myka with a slow, knowing grin. "That it is, Myka."

"Time Lord technology," Myka says, gaining confidence. "Like the drawer."

The Doctor's left brow quirks upwards and her lips shy downwards in a peculiar manner, but she ignores Myka's realization and refocuses the other woman's attention. "River, listen to me. We're dealing with a dalek. And there could be more of them." _River,_ Myka repeats silently. _That's her name._ The woman- River- sighs and leans against the nearest railing.

"There probably aren't any more. Actually, there probably are."

"Yes, River, very helpful. Thank you for the contribution."

"Well in this particular case, I think it's safe to say that there's only one. At least until eight a.m. tomorrow. Can't say I know a thing about what happen after that."

"And how would you know anything _before_ that, River?"

"I just came here from tomorrow!"

"Where were you when I needed you _today, other than prancing about with _my_ Tardis?_ "

"Busy! And here, now!"

"Doctor," Myka interrupts. "What exactly _is_ the Tardis?"

"A time machine," the Doctor explains quickly. "Except that it moves through both time _and_ space, and it's a she. TARDIS. Time-"

"And. Relative. Dimension. In. Space!"

The Doctor squeezes her eyes shut and curls her fingers around the metal railing. River's eyes widen as her lips pull slowly apart and realization falls upon her tongue. "That's the dalek. It's outside the Tardis. And it knows about you and- it knows who you are! It's... impossible."

"That's what I've been saying!"

River huffs.

"Yes, well, you were talking very, very fast. Didn't really catch much. I don't think Myka paid much attention, either. Myka, Sweetheart, did you hear anything the Doctor said?"

"How do you know my name?"

"Spoilers. I'll tell you later."

 _"Ladies!"_ the Doctor snaps. "Can we please focus? I think that the dalek is me."

Myka has her gun out and pointed before she can even consider a more appropriate response. Save for a flicker of alarm that passes over River's face, she and the accused party remain relatively calm for two persons on the receiving end of a pistol. There's some frustration, if anything, in the Doctor's voice as she throws her hands up and says, "No, no. _I'm_ not the dalek! The dalek is _me._ Would you please put that thing away, Miss Bering?"

Myka only partially understands the Doctor's meaning, but she lowers her gun anyway and tucks it away without ever quite letting go of it. The trigger pricks, venomous and pregnant, against her finger. "Doctor- whoever you are- I just- I'm a government agent and I know I don't have much to go by right now, but I need to know whether or not this cyborg is a threat to my country."

"There is a... great possibility."

"And you, Doctor?" Myka ventures. "Are you a threat to my country?"

"I absolutely am." Myka's fingers twitch at the Doctor's response. Her entire body wants to react on impulse; even her lip quivers with the anticipation of danger. But there's another voice, perhaps the voice of some delusional hope, that whispers for her to _wait, wait,_ even when the Doctor's mouth opens again and says, "I'm a threat to this entire universe, Myka."

"Then tell me: Are you working in favor of my people?"

"Always."

**

"Maybe it's not an actual dalek," River suggests again, her tone brimming on sarcastic. Myka's eyes drift down to her watch. Quarter until midnight. Her feet ache.

"No, no, it would need an incredibly complex power source in order to be that strong and so completely inorganic." The Doctor's hand travels through her thick, ebony hair.

"It's still possible! I've seen entire hospitals that run on battery power, and-"

"Yes, River, but not here, and not in a dalek! Do you understand the _immense_ amount of energy required for them to shoot just once? Something which this particular dalek has already done _several_ times? If it was, as you so stubbornly believe, a bloody, tinny, robot, the thing would have drained itself hours ago instead of continuing to sit outside the Tardis like the organic- stupid, yes, but _organic_ \- thing it is."

"How do you know it's still out there?" Myka interjects.

"Exterior cameras. Do you really think I'm that outdated? Even simple tooth brushes have those now!" Her scowl is as indignant as the placement of her hands on her hips, but both her hands and lips fall as her eyes drift between Myka and River. The government agent wears only a blank stare. River shakes her head, eyebrows raised. The Doctor sighs. "No? Alright. Just kidding. That doesn't happen for another hundred years. Spoilers. But nevertheless- exterior cameras!"

"Right..." Myka pauses. "What if the, um, 'dalek' is somehow running on a... rechargeable battery? I mean, I have no clue what I'm dealing with here, so this theory might be really far out-"

"No, no; Go on."

"You said that dalek is you, which I still don't quite understand... but what if it's just feeding off of you? What if you're both a power _and_ knowledge source for the dalek? It's alive right now, but it's also within your general proximity. It was completely immobile before the party tonight."

There's a beat of silence. Another beat. And then River's laugh echoes through the Tardis.

"Excuse me for saying so, but _that_ theory is-"

"Brilliant!" the Doctor chimes, jumping and running to throw her arms around the tense agent. "Oh, you're brilliant! It all seems to make sense, actually. I can _feel_ it draining me; but Myka, now that we _know_ the power source, all I need to do is get the dalek far enough away and occupy it until it drains and- oh, you brilliant girl! Don't you agree, River?" The woman in question throws her hands up in defeat. The Doctor gives Myka one final squeeze, flicks her eyes across Myka's forehead, and then says something to the effect of, "damn the height change," and kisses Myka enthusiastically on the lips.

She releases, and the Tardis door slams shut behind her.

When Myka turns to face River, there's an expression of amusement playing across her features. "You get used to it, Sweetheart," River says with a grin. "You gonna go help her or stand there gawking?"

"R-r-right," Myka stutters, thrusting her hand against her pistol (which is very quickly becoming too much of a comfort blanket) in an attempt to resist the urge to touch her lips, lips which have just been-

 _Kissed!_  
By a married woman!  
A very, very strange woman!  
And she's just Myka Bering!

Focus, Myka. Focus. "Right, yeah. I'm going out there. And you're-" she waves her gun at River- "good in here?"

"I am!"

"Right. Yeah."

Myka spins around, gun up, just as the Tardis door swings open and the Doctor comes crashing in. Her back settles against the Tardis door as Myka stands, dumbly, with the gun still pointed at the winded incomer.

"Well," the Doctor breathes. "Seems we're destined to meet at gunpoint. And _that_ was a bad idea. None of you tried to stop me. Why didn't any of you try to stop me? _I'm_ the power source, dingbats! I can't drain it!"

"To be fair, you didn't give us much of a chance to stop you."

"Didn't even give me a chance to talk," Myka grumbles, and this time, she allows her fingers to trace over her lips. She catches the Doctor's eye only long enough to see her smirk.

"Well!" she says. "I suppose someone else will have to do it! Any volunteers!"

"I could-"

"Oh, no, River, don't be silly. You have to stay here and help me... manage the Tardis! Myka! You can do it, can't you?"

"I-"

"This is perfect! Isn't it lucky that you tagged along? Hold on!" The Doctor ducks under Myka's arm and begins ruffling through various drawers under the console. Producing two identical slim, gold-colored boxes slightly larger than her palm, she flicks the drawers shut and races back to Myka. "Take one of these," she says, handing over one of the boxes. "It's a communicating device. You can use it to contact us once you've drained the dalek. And River, darling, can Myka borrow that... stun-gun of yours?"  
  
"Here, Sweetie. A tesla."

"Right, of course. A tesler. Brilliant concept, but I could invent better. Myka, stun the dalek once you've drained it so that it won't wake up when River and I come to decommission it. Got it?"

Myka can't do anything but blink. Her throat feels unusually thick, and her already aching feet weigh more and more with each word that passes through her ears. The time on her watch reads some time after midnight and she doesn't really care to know exactly _how far_ past midnight it is and right now the universe feels too big and Agent Myka Bering just  
 _can't._

And somehow, the Doctor can see that. Her eyes soften visibly and her hands fall to Myka's shoulders, lacking all their previous energy but still possessing the same absolute determination. "Myka," she murmurs, "you are an extraordinary human being. You are part of a strong and glorious race. Look how far your own country has come within the last two centuries! Look at what's happening today- in the streets, in the houses, on your stereo. Human beings can accomplish and _have_ accomplished so much, Myka Bering. People just like you. I know that what I'm asking you to do is beyond anything you know, but you _can_ do this, Myka. I've seen people far less intelligent accomplish far greater feats. And you, Myka Bering... you are a very, very intelligent woman." She smiles, and in the short moment that Myka takes to blink and exhale, the Doctor removes her own necklace and laces it around Myka's neck. The locket sits heavy and warm on her chest. "I believe in you, Myka Bering. So run fast, and save us all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, it's hard to find a balance between the Doctor and H.G. that makes sense and is interesting to write. Apologies if she seems incredibly out of character. I'm...trying? Chapter title is from Shania Twain's "That Don't Impress Me Much" (which gives me all sorts of silly Bering and Wells feels.)


	5. Endless Voids, Endless Wonder

She runs.  
She's not sure what else to do, and she's not given much of a choice. For several seconds, she's trapped between the dalek and the Tardis, and her heart

hammers

thunders

in the cavity of her chest. For those few seconds, she's certain that she's going to die. She stares down the extended and lethal arm of the cyborg, flinching but managing to match the pose with her borrowed tesla. She wonders whether or not the tesla can actually do any harm- do _anything_ at all- while the dalek is still this active. She tastes metal in her mouth, feels a sharp scraping of wood at her back and a bursting pulse in her ears. The solidity of the Tardis falls away from behind her. She thinks that perhaps death is already here.

But she blinks and she's _alive._

The dalek spins, aimlessly, frantically, searching for something that simply isn't there; and reflected in the dim moonlight is the singular blue visual sensor, bobbing up and down. The wheels scrape against the rooftop, tracing random and desperate circles. An unending scream of "No!" resonates from the cyborg's body. Myka feels the awareness creeping back up through the tips of her fingers, and logic reinstating itself in the folds of her mind. She shivers once, flashes her eyes across the dark rooftop, and then she bolts.

Her feet don't stop until she's reached the edge of the roof; and then, looking over the edge and into the darkness that spills around and beneath her, Myka swallows hard and begins her descent. She lowers herself down from the roof, her stomach flush against the building and her finger clamped over the roof's edge. She strains for the column which she _knows_ should be jut a few inches to the right; grabs of it; and slowly, cautiously, with an icy patience although every nerve in her body burns with adrenaline, sidles down the column and into the second-floor balcony. She hears the dalek approaching.

The safest route is through the White House. Anything else will require Myka to jump [and break a bone, likely.] But chancing her luck in a dash through the presidential building will risk both the termination of her mission [if she encounters any officials or armed members of the SWAT team,] and the lives of innocents (what if the dalek becomes angry again and starts shooting?) Jumping, however, might have the same results, as well as the guarantee of Myka's own death as soon as the dalek finds her mangled body.

So she takes her chances in the White House.

It's a mad dash; she figures she can make it outside before the dalek even makes it to the second floor if she's both quick and careful, but it's late and her body aches from fatigue and by the time she throws open the doord and looks up, she can see the gleam of the dalek's metal body moving on the balcony of the second floor.

Shouting will attract the attention of anybody in this portion of the building who hasn't seen her already, but-

"Hey you! Dalek! Down here!"

The blue eye swivels finds her. "DOC-TOR! YOU KNOW THE DOC-TOR!"

Both the dalek and sound of human feet start towards Myka's general direction.

And then she's off again, with the dalek close behind. As she runs, the locket rises in disorganized leaps, then crashes back against Myka's flesh. Her hair mimics this but in a manner that is slower, more gentle, more in sync with Myka's body. The dark splits around her. Her mind searches through files and folds of information, overlaid by three words-

_So run fast._

and her own response-  
 _Where?_

She knows the obvious answer: Away from people. And that, she thinks, is the most important point on which to focus, but it doesn't lend itself to a specific location. Technically, there are many places that are likely to be more or less deserted this late at night, but 'more or less' isn't good enough.

Where do you go when you want to be alone?

A library. A... museum? Your room. The car. The beach. A park.

A park!

If she runs and keeps her pace, she can make it to Langdon Park in under an hour. By then, she hopes, the dalek's battery will have died, and the park is far enough from the White House that the matter can be taken care of quietly and absent casualty.

_So run fast, and save us all. ___

 

The empty park is a welcome relief, but Myka is out of breath and sore. The run wouldn't be nearly so bad on any other day, but it's half past one in the morning and it's been a long day. Too long. Her feet catch, stumble, but Myka pushes herself back up and continues on. She throws her eyes back over her shoulder.

The dalek is still close behind.

She pulls out the video communicator without breaking stride. It takes a few minutes of fiddling with buttons, but the screen opens to reveal the face of the Doctor with River partially visible in the background.

"Doctor!" Myka gasps. "Thank God you picked up. I'm- I'm at Langdon- Park!"

"Oh, good! Is the dalek drained, then?"

"What? No. It's just as strong as before."

The Doctor frowns. "It must have already charged quite a bit then, eh? Righty-ho, then. Keep running. We'll see you soon."

The screen goes black.

Myka slams the device shut and suppresses a frustrated growl.

Trees rise around Myka like a fortress of shadows. Her feet cease to move. It feels, vaguely, like some nightmare she may have had as a child but forgotten in the passing of time. Yet, for a moment, it doesn't feel like any time had passed at all. For a moment, for just that _one_ moment, Myka is a little girl again, hiding amongst the great walls of books in Daddy's bookshop. Her fingers are dry and her lips are cracked because she keeps gnawing on them, running her tongue over them, trying to moisten them and ultimately worsening the problem. But she doesn't care. She doesn't care because she's not even _there_ ; she's wading through the Thames, running along the roadside, trying to outrun a seemingly invincible martian. The paper and words pressed between her fingers don't feel real- not nearly as real as the frigid water in her shoes and the fear in her heart and the moonlight on her back.

In that moment, Myka is just a kid again; And when her mind circles round to the present, she thinks that this isn't so different. Maybe she's being given the chance to be her own childhood hero.

In the not-so-distant distance, the dalek moves rapidly towards Myka and shows no signs of energy deficiency.

Myka is done trying to run.

But she's ready to fight back.

The dalek speeds closer. "YOU WILL LEAD ME TO THE DOC-TOR."

She swallows hard, tenses her muscles. "Oh, yeah? And what makes you so sure?"

"YOU ARE AN ACQUAINTANCE OF THE DOCTOR!"

"That doesn't mean _anything!_ " The dalek rolls to a halt an arm's length away from Myka. "Why are you so intent on killing the Doctor? What has the Doctor done to you?"

"THE DOCTOR'S EXTERMINATION IS NECESSARY IN ORDER TO ACCOMPLISH GREATER THINGS!" The frustration and absolute anger in the dalek's voice strikes Myka full-force for the first time. It's the proximity, she thinks, that makes it so obvious. Not just the proximity, but the _intimacy._ She wants to reach out and... touch the dalek? Comfort it?

 _No. God no. It wants to kill the Doctor. It wants to_ kill _her._

Myka grits her teeth and folds her arms stiffly across her chest. "Oh yeah? And what then? What's your endgame?" The dalek's eye shifts up and down, but there is no verbal response. Myka smirks. "You don't know, do you?"

"AFFIRMATIVE. MY PURPOSE IS ONLY TO EXTERMINATE THE DOCTOR."

"Huh." She stares at the dalek. The dalek stares back. "Why haven't you killed me? You don't need me to get to the Doctor. I mean, I haven't even known the Doctor for very long but I'm pretty sure she's not just going to leave you roaming around out here a-and causing-"

"YOU WILL NOT BE EXTERMINATED!"

"Why?"

"YOU HAVE THE DOCTOR'S AFFECTIONS!"

Her heart jumps. Her mouth runs dry. She thinks she knows the answer to the question she's about to ask, but she asks anyway _just to be sure._

"How would you know that?"

"I KNOW EVERYTHING THE DOCTOR KNOWS! I FEED OFF THE DAAARK-NESS INSIDE THE DOCTOR!"

 _The darkness?_ Myka doesn't want to believe that there could be darkness enough within the Doctor to power an entire dalek, but she can't deny the darkness' existence. She's seen it. And it scared her. But now, confronted with the very product of the Doctor's turmoil, she thinks that it really isn't all that bad.

The dalek was far more frightening before she understood what powered it.

Now it feels... human, or at least as human as an alien cyborg being powered by an alien time traveler possibly can be.

"But the Doctor cares about me? We only just met-"

"TIME IS IRRELEVANT TO THE DOCTOR! YOU CARRY A GIFT!"

"A gift?"

"A GIFT OF GALLIFREYAN ORIGIN."

"Sorry? Gallifreyan?"

"GALLIFREY IS THE PLANET OF THE TIME LOOORDS!"

Myka's hands flit upwards and drag across the chain around her neck until settling upon the locket at its center. Fingers flip over the latch. "The locket?" she asks, slipping one finger over the parted edge and prying it open. The locket shoots back across her chest and lies flush against her collar as though being held by a magnet beneath Myka's own flesh, and emits a vivid golden light that slowly waltzes its way from the locket's interior. Simultaneously- or so Myka supposes; for it has already happened by the time Myka tears her eyes away from the locket- the shell of the dalek parts and shifts sideways to reveal a glow of equal intensity but of opposite color: a deep, redish-violet which seems to engulf light rather than exhale it. The colors fuse together, pushing back across the golden stream, until finally all of the light emitted by the locket is overtaken and replaced by the opposing violet.

The locket clicks shut, and the cyborg stands lifeless.

Myka slumps down onto her knees, staring vacantly at the empty threat which had been so alive only moments ago, and clutching the locket between three fingers.

 

 

"Myka! I got it all figured out. It's brilliant, really. We just need to- Myka?"

For the first time since she sat down forty-two minutes ago, Myka shifts her eyes away from the dalek. The Doctor stands in the doorway of the Tardis, baptized from behind by a soft white light. Another figure comes to block a portion of this light, and then both River and the Doctor are gazing down upon Myka's limp body. Expressions of concern, confusion, and finally caution play across their faces. The Doctor hands off the large vacuum-like device in her arms to River and crouches down to meet Myka at eye level

"Myka?" she tries again, her voice a mere whisper. Myka's bottom lip is warm and raw and swollen from being worried by her upper teeth, and her eyes are lit by a wet shine.

"The dalek," she croaks, the centers of her eyes bobbing across the Doctor's features. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees River approaching the empty shell.

"The dalek?" the Doctor repeats. Myka's teeth clamp down on her bottom lip and her brow furrows in an expression of apparent pain before she leans forward and locks her arms around the Doctor's neck in a tight embrace. The receiving body tenses involuntarily, then goes slack in Myka's grip and slips kind hands up Myka's back.

Myka pulls away.

"Myka, tell me exactly what happened."

"I opened up the locket... and..." she trail off, shaking her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm so sorry."

"Myka, there's nothing to be sorry about. Can I see the locket?"

She hesitates, but Myka does as bid, removing the locket from around her neck and then slowly placing it into the Doctor's waiting hand. The Doctor's fingers only begin to curl around the locket when the Doctor is struck by a violent shudder. Her eyelids shut over bright and full eyes, then peel back to reveal a new pair that is so empty and devoid of all emotion that they bear no resemblance at all to their previous placeholders. Their gaze shifts back towards Myka. "When you were holding this, Myka, did it hurt?"

Hurt? No. It didn't hurt. It felt warm, kind, grateful even; like a tired friend breathing a sigh of relief after receiving the hug it had so desperately needed. The only thing that hurt was the confusion that Myka felt over the dalek's death and the knowledge of what she now had trapped in the locket. But that pain, she knows, is her own, and will ease with time. "No."

"Then will you keep it for me?" Myka nods, and the Doctor's hand pushes back Myka's thick hair and clasps the fragile chain around her neck. The Doctor stands. "River? Is there anything left of it?"

River's foot drums against the dalek and is answered by a hollow thud. "Nothing."

"Shame, really. I was so looking forward to trying out my new toy. Come on, Miss Bering. I'd like to show you something before you go home."

 

 

Standing in the door of Tardis some thirty minutes later, Myka does not think of home.

Actually, she _does_ think of home. She cannot think of anything else. But when her hands drift up to search for her unusually silent earpiece, she discovers that it fell off at some earlier point in the night, and she determines to push away all thought of work and home.

The Doctor brushes next to her and smiles.

"You could come with me, you know."

The Tardis is suspended in space. Outside the door, patches of orange and teal dot the surrounding indigo abyss. Galaxies of silver swirl like slow flurries of snow against the night sky, and hidden stars shiver into view.  
"It's beautiful," Myka murmurs, ignoring the previous offer and turning to catch the Doctor's eye.

The Doctor does not turn her gaze from Myka's as she smiles and agrees, "Yes, it is." There's a flutter of silence, a short lapse in time, and an unbroken stare before the Doctor's lips are moving again and she says, "The universe is filled with endless wonder, Myka. Would you like to see it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to save yourself some pain, consider this the end of the fic. There's PLENTY more to come, but it will be emotional and confusing and filled with angst ;) I'm excited. Very excited. And you, dear reader, have been warned. As always, feedback is much welcomed and appreciated. Let me know what you think!


End file.
